


Under the Conference Room Table

by Romiress



Category: DCU
Genre: Crack, Detached Penis, Gen, Humor, sentient penis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:48:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21908479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romiress/pseuds/Romiress
Summary: Hal is not prepared for what he finds in the watchtower.---Set, in theory, after Detachment, and plays in that world.
Relationships: background Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 40
Kudos: 221





	Under the Conference Room Table

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Detachment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19403224) by [bonehandledknife (ladywinter)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladywinter/pseuds/bonehandledknife). 



As far as Hal's concerned, the fact that they're even still having the meeting is a crime. It just doesn't make sense. With only seven members on the Justice League, losing two of them at one makes the whole meeting pointless. Anything they talk about is going to need to get relayed back to Bruce and Clark. Nothing they vote on can be confirmed without going over it at their next meeting. When Clark left it was no big deal, but when _Bruce_ left?

That was the point where they should have gone home. Hal's dozing in his seat as Diana talks about the current topic, and he's not the only one. J'onn looks like he's paying attention, and Arthur is at least _sort_ of paying attention, but Hal can tell Barry's playing games on his phone, and he sure isn't paying any attention either.

So when something nudges his foot, Hal just assumes it's Barry. Because of course it's Barry. He's bored, he wants Hal's attention, done. Hal shoots him an unimpressed look—the last thing he wants is to get in trouble with Diana—and ignores him.

Until Barry nudges him _again._ Hal rolls his eyes, glances under the table so he can aim a good kick at Barry's foot, and then freezes.

Barry's feet are firmly where they're supposed to be. He's not nudging Hal at all.

No, what's leaning against Hal's boot isn't a foot at all: It's a dick.

The sight of it is so absurd that Hal feels a headache coming on from the moment he lays eyes on it. There's just a... a dildo on the floor. Someone—god knows who, because he's having a hard time imagining any member of the League being so unprofessional they'd smuggle a _dildo_ onto the watchtower—has thrown a dildo at his leg under the conference room table.

And then the dildo moves.

Hal feels his brain shut down as he watches the dildo—the _dick_ —sit up a bit, twisting it's head to look up at Hal.

Except it doesn't have any eyes.

Because it's a dick.

But it's impossible to ignore the feeling that he's being looked at as the head of _the dick_ tilts like a person cocking their head.

Hal's pretty sure his brain still isn't working. Maybe he's hallucinating. Maybe it's an illusion.

The penis—every time he thinks that word Hal feels his brain break a little more—nudges against his foot, and Hal can't take it anymore. He makes a point of _accidentally_ dropping his pen, and then leans down.

Yep, it's a dick. It looks like a normal enough dick except for the fact that it isn't attached to anything, and Hal makes a concerted effort of trying simultaneously to reach out and grab it while also trying not to look directly at it. It's probably a trap. Touching it is probably going to summon an alien monster or something. But he can't just leave _a dick_ on the floor, so he... he grabs it.

And it feels like a dick. Like a living, flesh and blood dick that is _wiggling in his hand as he picks it up_ and eventually drops it in his lap for lack of a better place to put it.

Which means there's a dick in his lap and the very idea of it is only making his confusion worse. It doesn't... it doesn't make any sense. There's just a dick. A... a sapient (sentient?) dick wandering around a space station with better security than Fort Knox. He has so many _questions._

Those questions multiply when the dick proceeds to curl up in his lap like a cat.

"Hal," Diana says, her voice cutting through his confusion, and Hal's head snaps up to stare at her. The meeting, right. He'd forgotten the meeting. "While I understand you wish we'd retired for the day when Batman left, the Ftorian situation does need to be handled in a timely manner. We simply don't have the time to lose."

Hal's mouth feels dry. He is, at some point, going to have to explain the situation to the rest of the League. He can't not. What's his alternative, smuggling it out of the Watchtower on his own?

But he absolutely doesn't want to.

 _Especially_ not to Diana.

"I... this is going to sound strange but Diana, could you _please_ leave the room?"

Diana looks offended, and Hal can't blame her. At the same time, there's absolutely no way he can say what he needs to say without making at least some effort to get her out of the room, so by god, he's just going to have to try.

"No," she says firmly. "And you're going to explain why you wanted me out of the room _immediately."_

So Hal does. He reaches down, scoops the dick up, and then dumps it on the table in front of him.

The immediate reaction is disgust and alarm, which lasts for all of one second before the penis rights itself, resting on its balls as looks around the room before slumping, apparently not finding what it was looking for.

Barry's mouth falls open and hangs there. Arthur manages to look only slightly more composed, while Diana... Diana just stares.

"...That is a detached human penis," J'onn says.

"Which is... sapient," Hal says. "Sentient. Sapient?" He doesn't have enough brain cells left over to figure out which, since the majority of his are still trying to wrap themselves around the situation. Around the fact that there's a... a dick.

"I.... see," Diana says. She looks stunned, and Hal doesn't blame her. Barry's mouth is still hanging open, for one. "Should I make the assumption that it isn't yours?"

"It isn't _mine!"_ Hal protests, going red. "I wouldn't dump _my own dick_ on the conference room table. I think it's lost."

"You think... the penis... is lost," Arthur says. He sounds a breath away from devolving into hysterical laughter.

The penis seems to curl in on itself as if shy, and Diana's eyebrows somehow manage to continue to go higher and higher as it does.

"It's... strangely cute. Are you sure it isn't being... remotely controlled?" She ventures.

"No idea," Hal says. "But it... I mean, it nudged my foot, so I think..."

He reaches over, careful to use the hand that _wasn't_ handling the strange dick, and closes Barry's mouth for him.

"Sorry," Barry blurts. "It's just... it's just there's a dick. A dick on—"

"We get it," Hal says. "We are past that point. The dick exists. It's here. It appears to be at least as smart as a small animal. The question is _why_ is it here?"

"An excellent question," J'onn says. "Watchtower security should not have allowed it on board. It must have stowed away with a member of the League when they came through the portal."

"Okay, but _whose dick is it?"_ Barry blurts. "It's clearly... I mean, it's got balls, and it has a place where it should attach to someone, so someone's dick just... escaped."

The realization hits Hal like a brick to the face, and he steels whatever big of self control he has and turns to face the dick. The dick seems to notice his sudden attention, because it turns to face _him,_ too.

"Hey, uh, little guy," Hal says, addressing it with as much dignity as he can muster. "You aren't looking for Clark, are you?"

The dick _shakes it's head._ It takes Hal a second to process both that A) the penis is clearly responding to his questions, and that B) his initial guess is wrong.

"...Bruce?"

There's some very enthusiastic head bobbing, and Hal buries his face in the one hand he can still trust.

"Is... is that Clark's penis?" Diana says, her tone one of horror.

"I'm pretty sure that's Clark's penis who _wants to find Bruce,"_ Arthur says. His tone isn't horror. His tone is that of barely contained laughter.

"What do we do?" Barry asks, coming very firmly on the _horror_ side of the scale. "We can't just... we can't just call them up and tell them we _found Clark's dick."_

Right then, Hal has a lot of questions. Is it just the one? Is Clark just ken doll smooth right then? Is it just always detached?

But he also has a lot of answers, too. Because he's pretty sure that when Clark excused himself for a _family emergency,_ the _family_ in question was actually his own _escaped penis._

Which is a sentence that Hal wishes he'd never had a chance to think.

"We don't do any of that," Hal says. "I am going to... to construct-bubble this penis. I am going to... I don't know, fly back to Gotham? So there's no record of me going there that Bruce can trace. Then I'm going to drop the penis off on Bruce's doorstep and fly as fast as possible so that he thinks the penis came back on its own. Obviously he doesn't realize it ended up on the watchtower, or he'd be flipping the whole station upside down."

The penis perks up at that. It seems excited, and Hal is desperately hoping it doesn't _get excited._ That is the absolute last thing he wants.

And then, to Hal's intense horror, the penis _flies off the table,_ zips up _towards his face_ and starts to _nuzzle his cheek._

Clark's penis (because there's absolutely no question which member of the League owns a _flying penis_ ) is nuzzling his cheek.

"I think it likes you," Diana says.

Hal really wishes it didn't.

* * *

When number sixteen (Bruce won't let Clark _name_ them, but they need some way to distinguish them) arrives home two hours later, Bruce has never been so relieved in his life. It's not like he was worried something could have hurt it—he's confident in the ability of the flying penis with impenetrable skin's ability to get out of trouble—but that doesn't mean someone might not have seen it. Clark was beside himself over it being lost, and Bruce is pretty sure the possibility of his penis ending up on the evening news never even occurred to Clark.

"You aren't supposed to leave," Bruce says desperately as he washes Sixteen off. There's no telling where he's been, and Bruce doesn't want to risk him tracking mud (or worse) inside. "You're supposed to stay in the manor with the rest of them."

Sixteen seems apologetic, which is good. Almost sheepish. But when all is said and done, he joins the rest of his brothers in Bruce's room, and then... well, that's that.

No harm done, Bruce supposes.

It's not like anyone saw Sixteen anyway.


End file.
